Strange Bedpersons Read online

  “I bet you can’t wait,” Welch said. “The question is, have you read any of my other books? Or are you waiting for the movies?”

  “Oh, I’ve read them all,” Tess said. “I was assigned The Last Promise in college, and then read the other two on my own. Of course that was many years ago. How long has it been since Disenchanted Evenings? Fifteen years?”

  “Why don’t you sit down now, Tess?” Nick said to her grimly, pulling out her chair for her. “And remember where you are.”

  “Back off, Jamieson,” Welch snapped at him. “When I can’t take it, I’ll let you know.”

  “Actually I really am looking forward to hearing you read,” Tess said, sinking into her chair.

  “Because you’re so taken with my philosophy?” Welch asked, baiting her.

  “No, I’m not crazy about your philosophy,” Tess said. “I just like your writing.”

  She smiled at him cheerfully, and Welch blinked in disgruntled surprise. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Tess said. “Your house is nice, too. Did you pick out the sampler in my bedroom?”

  Welch snorted with laughter. “You liked that, did you?”

  “Loved it,” Tess said.

  Welch laughed again and then turned to the woman on his left. “You should see this sampler, Tricia,” he said to her, and she cooed at him, practically consuming him with obvious celebrity-collector’s greed.

  “Who’s she?” Tess asked Nick when Welch turned away and Henderson began to serve.

  “This is a good sign,” Nick murmured at the same time. “He’s taking me pretty seriously to sit us here. But, God, Tess, watch your mouth. Don’t blow this for me.”

  “I think he likes it when I talk back,” Tess said, but then she was distracted by Henderson. “I want one of those,” she whispered to Nick.

  “What would you do with him if you had him?” Nick whispered back. “Staple signs to him for demonstrations?”

  Tess sighed. “I just like the way he controls the universe. You know, before dinner somebody was saying that he even watches what Welch eats because he has a heart condition. Welch doesn’t even have to do his own dieting. Henderson sees to it.” She shook her head in admiration. “It would be really nice to have a man around to take care of me like that.”

  “Hey.” Nick pointed to his chest. “Let’s not forget the obvious here. What about me?”

  She looked at him, warm and broad and smiling next to her, and thought, anytime, but all she said was, “You’re cute, but you’re no Henderson.”

  “Hey,” Nick said again, but then Henderson began to serve, and Tess minded her manners beautifully through most of the entree.

  Then Welch pushed his plate back and said, “So, Miss Newhart,” and Tess looked at him inquiringly.

  “You say you’re not crazy about my philosophy,” Welch went on. “Now your philosophy would be what, exactly?” He looked at her from under his brows, and Tess saw a definite challenge there.

  Be good, she reminded herself. This is important for Nick. “My philosophy is to behave myself so I get invited back for dinner again,” she told him.

  “This is excellent beef. Does Henderson do your cooking?”

  “No,” Welch said, “and you’re ducking the question.”

  “Well, I’m trying to behave,” Tess said. “It’s always a struggle for me. Now where exactly did you get Hen—”

  “The hell with behaving,” Welch said. “Show a little spirit. I know you’re under Jamieson’s thumb here, but you must have some ideas of your own.”

  Tess held back the first dozen retorts that occurred to her. “Can’t think of one. You know us women. Short on philosophy, long on shopping.”

  “Didn’t pick this one for her brains, did you, Jamieson?” Welch said, but he kept his eyes on Tess.

  “Tess is brilliant—” Nick began quietly, but Tess waved him silent.

  “What are you up to?” she asked Welch, and was rewarded with a grin. “I thought so. You’re just trying to get me in trouble. Well, forget it. Pass the butter.”

  “A woman without a philosophy,” Welch said, passing her the butter dish. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “All right, all right, I have a philosophy,” Tess said, trying to play the game for Nick’s sake. “Well, it’s not really mine. It’s one I borrowed. I had a friend a very long time ago who used to say that the only way to live life was to look for the best in every day and make sure I had a part in creating some of it. That still works for me.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Park groaned.

  “How charming,” the blond woman across from Tess said, making it obvious that she didn’t think so.

  “I think it is,” Gina said, a truly brave act since she’d been silent, staring at her plate, ever since they’d all sat down.

  Tess turned to her, smiling, but Welch was already on the attack. “Sounds like sixties’ garbage.”

  Tess swung back to him, and then she felt Nick’s hand grip her thigh. Don’t say anything, she thought, and then she nodded a little, and Nick moved his hand away.

  The blond woman tittered. “Oh, Norbert.”

  Encouraged, Welch went on. “You’re probably one of those fools who thinks literature should be life-affirming.”

  Tess frowned at him and opened her mouth, but Nick’s hand was back before she could speak. “Tess teaches literature,” he said. “I’m sure she has many interesting theories about it, but right now—”

  Welch interrupted him. “So now you’re the spokesman for her? What happened to her mouth?”

  “Spokesperson,” Tess said. “And my mouth is right here. Biding its time.”

  “Spokesperson?” Park said, confused.

  “Nongender-specific term.” Tess watched Welch grow red with annoyance and smiled cheerfully at him in response.

  He caught her grin and stopped scowling, nodding at her slightly to acknowledge the hit. “Politically correct garbage,” he said, baiting her again. “Stupid words.”

  “Definitely,” the blonde agreed, totally oblivious to the byplay going on in front of her.

  “Patriarchy is dead, folks.” Tess beamed at them both. “Get used to it.”

  The pressure from Nick’s hand on her thigh increased to the point of pain.

  “The hell it is,” Welch grumped. “Not in my house.”

  Tess laughed at Welch, at the same time attempting to move her leg out of Nick’s grip. “What are you trying to do? Recapture the fifties?”

  Welch snorted at her again. “Makes more sense than reliving the sixties. ‘Course, you’re a real radical, probably protesting all over the place.” He shook his head at her, obviously fighting back a grin as he looked at her from under his brows, his head lowered like a bull ready to charge. “You really think that crap does any good?”

  Tess felt her temper flare and stomped on it. Getting mad was what Welch wanted her to do, the old goat. If she wanted to help Nick, the best thing she could do was shut up.

  She shut up.

  Nick moved his hand away again, patting her knee in gratitude as he did so.

  Welch needled her some more. “Your problem is that you’re in the wrong decade. The hippies are gone, Tess. Give it up.”

  “Give it up?” Tess said, holding on to her temper. “Then who will do it if I don’t?”

  “That’s what I thought— you’re a martyr. And for what? All that protesting never accomplished squat, anyway.” Welch grinned at her. “Sixties’ stuff. That’s all out of date now.”

  “Well, values are timeless,” Tess said goaded beyond endurance. “Do you have any?”

  “How about this roast beef?” Nick said. “And the gravy? My compliments to the cook.”

  “Butt out, Jamieson,” Welch said, and then went back on attack. “Yeah, I have values. Hard work, drive and success. Those are my values. And they’ll get me a lot farther than your touchy-feely ideals will get you.” He peered at her, watching avidly for her reaction, but Tess w